Navy Blue Hoodie
by Marshmallows1370
Summary: The Avengers were always under the impression that they were, currently, the only group of vigilantes in New York. That is, until a boy with a set of superhuman abilities rescues Tony Stark from imminent death via wormhole.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: Avengers and PJ don't belong to me. Obviously.**

**Story plot suggestions are appreciated too. So are Reviews.**

**The broccoli says 'I look like a small tree', the mushroom says 'I look like an umbrella', the walnut says 'I look like a brain', and the banana says 'Can we please change the subject?'**

**Edit: This is the new and improved version, okay? I read it and decided it was shitty and was like screw this! I'm going to revise! I'm not done yet so excuse the mistakes.**

**_Edit on the edit on the edit: paintedbones, thank you for pointing that out. I meant "airy" actually. That was a dumb mistake of mine._**

_**Edit on the Edit: HAHA! I'm armed with new adjectives and one more year on my belt (I recently turned 13 )! YAY! Revising again, don't mind me guys. ^_^**_

Screams echoed off the subway walls. Faint streaks of sunlight streamed in through the glass on the ceiling (who puts glass in an underground tunnel?) and cast a deceptively ambient glow on the puddles of blood and crowds of bodies (both dead and alive) on the platform. Safe, the police said.

Safe as my ass, Nancy thought when the grey-haired man standing three steps away from her collapsed with a gaping, bloody hole in his chest.

Two Chitauri lumbered around the exits, while six more strutted on the podium, seeming to take amusement in watching them run like headless chickens and occasionally firing a shot into the crowd.

Before the story continues, the author would like you to think about something.

Have you ever had that feeling after reading some rape, kidnapping, or murder story in the news and being like _pshh, I'm so ordinary, this will never happen to me!_ Which is a fair conclusion to arrive at, considering the odds of you getting murdered is pretty small. You leave your doors unlocked, the garage door open, and precious items in your car because those bad people are in a different dimension and everyone here is a decent person. I mean, if you see an iPhone in a car, you're not going to take a rock and break the window to steal it, are you?

It was for this reason, because Nancy Bobofit thought of herself an ant in an ant pile, that she assumed that the chances of any one of those malevolent guns hitting her were next to none.

Which may have also been the reason that, at that moment, a beam ricocheted off a metal bar and took a sizeable chunk of her leg off.

-S-

Tony destroys the Mothership with a magnificent explosion composed of an unorthodox combination of Chitauri guts, Stark glory, and estranged metal. The explosion is silent, with no air to travel through, allowing Stark to marvel at the beauty without any distractions while propelling in the opposite direction at breakneck speeds, no friction whatsoever. He sees the wormhole into Manhattan- it looks like a 2-D disk with the tops of buildings printed on front and back, suspended in empty space like one of the many pieces of alien ship rubble.

Then he floats around in empty space, bombardments of completely useless theories and facts about the universe he comes up in the moments of his life where he literally had nothing to do (he could think of a lot of things he could have done) other than come up with useless theories and facts about the universe flitting across his mind.

Theories that could be tested, right here, right now, in this empty vacuum filled with alien debris.

Theories that he _would _test, if, say, he wasn't slowly dying of oxygen deficiency.

-S-

Someone was killing the Chitauri. Nancy could spot the figure past the distortedness of her tears, sweeping past the podium, decapitating monsters by swinging something similar to a bronze baseball bat. He had finesse and grace and dexterity while Nancy had tears and one and a half legs.

People started scampering out like swarms of mice the moment the Chitauri blocking the exits were killed. They paid no heed to anyone- not Nancy, and certainly not the other dead bodies scattered on the floor. It was a mass of panic and fear and pain, all rushing out in multiple waves.

Nancy laid there, the right part of her blouse underneath her armpit stained with the crimson of the blood left by the man killed moments before, the 100 dollar pair jeans she and her mother took an hour picking out a mangled mess of flesh, cloth, and blood.

_This is how she's going to die._

She remembers only strong arms and the feel of a navy blue jacket. His voice warm, light and airy, in a good way.

"You're going to be alright."

_She knows him._

-S-

They all watch as the portal, the one their fellow comrade went through and didn't come back out, closes. It closes gradually- certainly enough time for him to fall back to earth, yes?

Tony Stark may have been a narcissistic asshole at times, and an all-around unpleasant person to work with, but when it came down to it, he had, deep, deep down inside past all those levels of sarcasm and animosity, brilliance and pure(if a bit askew) morals.

In short, he was a friend. And a damn good one at that.

Steve Rogers stood in the center of a lopsided circle of collapsed chitauri, standing rigid while glaring holes at the wormhole, willing the bastard to fall back through. His teammates stand in scattered positions up and down the street, each looking equally grim.

Then the Hudson explodes into an arc of putrid brown water, a giant murky fist of water protruding and racing towards the sky, thousands of feet up, and into the worm hole. The river is sucked dry, leaving only the remaining trash and algae and unknown debris resting on the river floor.

It snakes out moments before the hole closes, a certain red-and-gold clad figure submerged inside the fist.

"Son of a gun," Steve mutters, already racing towards the next street over, where the polluted water fist seemed to be dropping Tony. He spots, on the rooftop of a strip mall with minimal damage, a teen in a navy blue jacket with his arm outstretched in exact synchronization as the one from Hudson.

Vivid green eyes meet Steve's from under tufts of raven black hair. The boy retracts his arm and ducks away. Steve loses sight of him as the watery arm dissipates and drops Tony Stark from 20 feet off the ground. The water flows by itself up street back into the river, an odd phenomena, but after seeing a hole in the sky open to thousands of alien invaders on hoover boards, he's honestly more concerned about the wellbeing of his team mate.

Natasha shakes and slaps him in an attempt to wake him up. No avail.

Bruce tries a few pressure points. No avail.

Clinton suggests Natasha do mouth to mouth. No avail.

Thor thumps Tony on the back. Tony jerks upright and coughs up brown water mixed with some algae and a dum-dum wrapper, a sight at which he groans.

"That's disgusting," he says hoarsely after a moment. The phrase seems to kick start their brains again, and Natasha suddenly kneels to embrace him. "Idiot," she says. The others pitch in with their part, all _you idiot, what were you thinking? _on the outside disguising an _I'm glad you're okay._

They're all grinning, encircling Tony with relief and acceptance, while he just smiles bewilderedly.

"Shwarma," Steve says. "On me."

**I'll change the second chapter during the weekend. Until then, this is all you gonna get. I'm not going to take it (the 2nd chapt) down for revising cuz im too lazy and there's always the possibility that I'll forget and leave this on hiatus for months on end again. ._. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2, for you weirdos who actually like this story.**

Percy Jackson sat by the edge Hudson River, on a part of the bank that was relatively clean and grassy. A box of freshly baked cookies laid beside him, along with a sand dollar, an unorthodox combination.

"Yo," He said awkwardly into the slow-moving stream. "Um...Hudson? You there?"

Nothing happened at first, as expected of someone speaking into thin air. Percy shifted from foot to foot, blew his hair out of his eyes twice, whistled a small tune and finally reached down to grab the cookies and leave when the putrid brown water in front of him burst vertically in an arch, the stray droplets making Percy shield the cookies like a newborn child.

"No need for melodramatics, man." Percy examined his cookies. "Do you want to eat soaked cookies?"

The humanoid figure risen from the lake leaned forwards in anticipation. "Those are for me?"

"If you'd just dry off first…" Percy leaned away from him when the watery hand reached from the river for the cookies, dripping water onto the grass. For a second, something akin to embarrassment crossed Hudson's face.

When Hudson stepped onto the grass, Percy almost dropped the cookies in shock.

He was a young adult, no more than 25 at most, dressed in tatters and veiled with soot. Random pieces of trash found its way into his straggly hair, and his Caucasian features had a veneer of dirt.

"Yeah, I know." Hudson said bitterly. "I'm filthy. Now gimme. You don't put me in a goddamn wormhole and not pay me back."

"Right, uh…" Percy gestured to his sand dollar. "I'll throw this in too if you agree to a loose alliance with Camp Olympian. The satyrs are getting kind of annoyed at getting splashed every time they try to pick up trash off your banks."

That was the newfound name for the combination of Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter. Not exactly the most creative name in history, but it satisfied both Camps and even possessed a ring to it, as opposed to Camp Greece or Camp Rome.

"Deal." He eagerly thrusted his hands out, eyes filled with greed and desperation. Percy couldn't bring himself to truly dislike him.

The moment both offerings were in Hudson's hands, the river spirit exploded. If Percy was normal, he would have been soaked. Be as it may, he wasn't, so it only served as a mild annoyance at this point. It wasn't like Hudson could do anything to hurt him, relying on immature tantrums like these instead. Percy was at the point where he could send almost any minor entity to oblivion for a few decades at the very least.

The soil at his feet sopping wet, Percy trudged back onto the main road. People buzzed around him, each with a particular destination and purpose in mind. Even with the remaining piles of rubble and alien corpses not cleared away lying on the street, there was an air of calm and relaxation. The threat was over, and there wasn't anything that could hurt them now, they thought.

They had no idea that, a year ago, the earth waking up and killing all of them was actually a possibility.

Buildings loomed above him, trying to reach the heavens, with no idea how far they were. About 500+ floors away, actually, and they'd been set back by a certain alien attack.

It's always Manhattan. Why is it always Manhattan? What's wrong with Hong Kong or Dubai or something?

The streets are littered with construction workers, Red Cross members, people from the local soup house, and just regular citizen volunteers, lending a hand when Manhattan needed it most.

Percy sees a sweet shop, the one his mother used to work at, with the front glass display windows shattered. The old lady that owns it is handing out candy to a crowd of disheveled children with a matronly smile, each recipient grinning broadly.

The clouds float in soft, puffy masses, the sky is still blue, and the sun is still shining.

Percy smiles.

-S-

"A male with green eyes and black hair." Nick Fury repeated.

"And young." Piped Steve.

"And young." Nick said mockingly. "That's over a thousand matches in New York alone."

"But only one has freaky water powers." Steve says in an I-have-a-point voice.

Nick shot him a sardonic look. "Can _you_find the one green eyed, black haired teen with freaky water powers in the middle of _New York?_"

"No," Steve admitted. "But don't you have some sort of database for supernatural people like that?"

"He's not on it. There's no one with water powers like his in the database because it isn't supposed to be scientifically possible."

"Oh." Steve paused. "Keep looking, I guess?"

Nick groaned.

-S-

"They're looking for you." Chiron said, swishing his tail amicably. "They haven't learned your name yet, but I suspect they will soon. Mortal technology can be quite persistent."

"Can't you just use the mist?"

"With that many witnesses," Chiron said gravely, "And the weakening of the mist by the arrival of Asgardians, it would be quite perilous."

"Huh," Percy said. "I'm surprised they haven't come knocking on my apartment door with a SWAT team."

"I have the ominous feeling that you just jinxed that."

-S-

When Nancy Bobofit woke up, a ceiling of blinding white and the smell of anesthetics greeted her. To her right was a beeping box of a machine, and to her left was the hunched over, sleeping figure of her mother.

Instinctively, Nancy reached over to touch her, but was yanked back by a cord imbedded into her wrist, pumping an unknown liquid into her body. She's clad in the plain white paper-like dress of a hospital patient.

"Mom?" Her voice came out hoarse and scratchy. Her mother jerked awake, like she was suddenly electrified, blinking blearily. "Nancy?"

She yawned.

"Nancy!" The hug she was engulfed with seemed to kick start her nerves and senses again.

And her senses, no matter how hard they tried, couldn't feel her leg. Why couldn't she feel her leg?

Her mother gazes sadly at her.

Nancy yanked the snow white blankets off her legs in panic, gazing disbelievingly at the smooth stub of what used to be her right leg.

"You were in a coma," her mother sounded near tears. "For three days. The doctors said it was a miracle you survived, and the police said a man had carried you out, and I was so _scared, Nancy,_I thought you were going to _d_-"

"Percy." Nancy feels the words tumble out of her mouth.

"What?" Her mother's staring at her like the removal of her leg also removed part of her brain cells too.

"Percy Jackson."

**I noticed that a lot of you were like "Psh, Ultramarine? How lame." So I got rid of it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hellooooooo I'm back. Plots are so hard to come up with, but whatever. Also I might post another story soon so if that does happen to go public feel absolutely completely (It's not like I want you to or anything, of course not, how could I) free to check it out : )**

After further searching, Public Surveillance discovers a story in which a man in a navy blue hoodie and black hair saves a crowd of civilians in an underground station. Reportedly, the weapon was a hockey stick/baseball bat/metal rod/a stick, all of which Nick couldn't quite understand how one could be confused for the other.

No one remembers his face, and barely any legible photos are taken, except one blurry back shot of him carrying a young red-haired woman with a bloody mess of a right leg. Being a photo of his back, his face is not revealed. However, the woman was in a perfect position to catch a glimpse of his face.

The woman is identified as Nancy Bobofit, a young intern at Stark Industries, who was in a coma for three days and had recently awakened with one missing leg.

Before the next sunset, two relatively inconspicuous shield agents stroll casually into the reception lobby of Bellevue Hospital.

-S-

His name is Percy Jackson. He has a completely clear file but has the longest list of ridiculous charges dropped that Nick has ever seen.

Terrorism, assault, trespassing, property damage, kidnapping, truancy, minor drug usage, etc, etc. All cleared.

He's working as a marine biologist at the age of 20 after skipping 2 years of high school due to some special educational program sponsored by Delphi, which apparently had products ranging from strawberries to computer data chips.

In a relationship- a troublemaker like that, Nick can only wonder what his woman would be like- one relative, missing biological father and one mother named Sally Jackson.

Nick stares at his picture. Percy Jackson as an 18 year old handsome young man with ruffled jet-black hair and eerie sea green eyes. He looks like any regular teenager delinquent, except there's something about the way he positions his mouth, like he can't quite get his smile right, and his eyes look cold and distant.

Nick doesn't like it.

He sends agent Maria Hill and, not one, but two backup squads specialized in the supernatural.

-S-

Percy gets home at 7 o'clock, only to be greeted by a stern looking woman in a black business dress waiting in front of his apartment door. It's currently just him residing there- Annabeth was on a trip to California, something about Camp Jupiter's architects and incompetence- so he invites her in without any hindrance.

Agent Hill lists all her government qualifications, with an undertone of hostility, like implying a threat of what could happen should he displease her, a fed, then asks him what he knows about the supernatural incident of the Hudson River. All she gets is a series of nebulous answers that seem very genuine and in good humor. Until she reflects upon them and discovers that the only thing she has gleaned is that he has a girlfriend, he likes water, and he was planning on cleaning his apartment soon, as it was quite embarrassing when federal agents make social visits to his apartment only to be greeted by untidiness.

The more she pries, the more vague answers received, and it serves to eat away at her cool. At last, she stands up and stiffly asks him to make a visit to SHEILD headquarters, implying the possibility that the request was not meant to be optional.

Feds imply a lot, Percy realizes. "And what about the SWAT team?"

"Excuse me?" She asks, immediately referring to the two teams positioned inconspicuously around the apartment building in her mind.

Percy just sighs.

He snaps his fingers, she slumps over, sliding onto the floor, and his front door is promptly knocked down by a bunch of men in what looked like metallic blue armor bearing various kinds of unknown weapons.

The chair across from the unconscious Agent Hill was empty. 14 members of Supernatural Defense Forces fill the entrance of the small apartment as salty mist carried by a sea breeze from an unknown source sweeps past their faces.

-S-

"I told you not to interfere, Seaweed Brain."

"Yeah, yeah." Percy runs his fingers through his hair and flops down on the bunk bed of the Poseidon cabin. Sounds of demigods engaging in various activities echoes outside the cabin as the sun slowly sets and the day ends.

Annabeth looks as beautiful as ever in the Iris message, but her face is lined with worry. "You can't go back to our apartment, Percy. And what about your job?"

Percy lazily waves a dismissive hand. "As far as they're concerned, I'm lounging on a beach in California with my girlfriend right now."

"I wish you _were_ lounging on a beach with your girlfriend right now."

"Yeah? I could Vapor over there if you want."

"The last time you did long distance, you ended up conked out for 2 days."

"I'm stronger now. I'll be conked for only about 3 hours...totally worth it."

"Not a chance, Kelp Head." The lightheartedness fades a little, and she sighs. "I know it'll take way more than a government agency to do you in, Percy, but seriously, be careful."

"Of course I will. I'm going to be hiding here until this all blows over."

"And if it doesn't?"

"One thing at a time, Wise girl."

Annabeth shakes her head in amused exasperation. "It's a wonder how you stay in one piece with such an unreliable method."

"I'm full of wonders."

"I'm sure you are."

Two demigods behind her carrying a large pile of building material shout something at Annabeth.

"I'll be back in three days. As impossible as it sounds, try not to cause any trouble."

"I was about to say nothing's impossible, but I realized that would be."

She rolls her eyes. "Love you, Seaweed Brain."

"Love you too."

She turns away, and the message fades. Percy slices his hands through the remaining mist to dissipate it. Walking to the private pier extending into the camp's bay, he sits on the edge and dangles his feet in the water. He rests there for a few moments, peacefully listening to the sound of the waves by himself until Travis busts down the cabin door and parades onto the pier, half a s'more in hand and the other half smeared various spots on his face, to coax Percy into joining the campfire.

Percy walks out into the huddle of campers, over 120 beating hearts, all singing about their grandmother's armor around a brilliant yellow flame.

He recalls of the time when there were only 45 campers, at most, huddling around the same fire but black, in absolute silence.

The fire would never turn black again. Percy would make sure of it.

**I actually continued. Whoaaaaaaa. Hopefully, the next chapter will come into existence within the next month or so and not in like six (like this chapter XD sorry about that, you even took all this time to write all those heartfelt reviews.)**

**Review please :) It makes me happy.**


	4. Horse Shit

**Ahaha it's only been a week…but ta-da! The fourth chapter.**

**Also, are disclaimers even required? Is it like in the Rules &amp; Guidelines or something? Maybe I should actually read it instead of just clicking "I agree" the next time I post a story…**

**Also I decided to put titles now. Titles are cool.**

_**Chapter 4**_

_**Horse Shit**_

Annabeth spent the next few weeks after her trip to the Rome division of Camp Olympian acting as an instructor to hundreds of hyperactive demigods stricken with ADHD and dyslexia. She couldn't even vent her frustration at her boyfriend, who was in the same situation as her, but, irksomely, took it with nonchalant stride.

Percy laughed when she huffed about it, assuring her that things with the SHEILD insiders and Hecate's magical mystical Mist were pretty much worked out.

Annabeth decided to take his word for it.

-S-

Nick's always known about the monsters- strange organisms that could only be visible to certain beings. SHEILD had an array of people capable of sensing them, but when they finally got around to trying to combat them, the team assembled served little purpose in the little time they were deployed. The monsters seemed to ignore them completely, harmed no civilians, and, even if they _could_ see them, their weapons had practically no effect at all. There were videos of people fighting them, but the films were short and unclear and the people identified were mostly deemed unimportant to the wellbeing of the world-wide population.

SHEILD wrote the monsters off as relatively peaceful organisms who wished to reside on earth (there were more of those around than you would think) who were blessed with unpleasant appearances. Doctors specialized in the brain reported that the strange mind-tricks used did no lasting damage to the brain, other than some minor psychological tweaks that lasted for no longer than 2 minutes.

With only a small laboratory in Kentucky studying the illusion factor of the organisms for the benefit of the organization, the whole thing was put off to the side. No harm to the general public, so who cares?

Then Nick Fury gets a grainy video from a bugged surveillance camera of a man with a 70% hit by the facial recognition software as Percy Jackson, accompanied by several younger teenagers battling a white, oversized toad. He starts to pay more attention to the 'monsters'.

He sends out a couple amateur field agents to scope out the Manhattan area.

-S-

Nick stares at the crisp, HD, 24-hour surveillance of the holding cell, a boy drugged out from multiple hastily fired tranquilizer darts sleeping inside. He was brought to HQ in a stereotypical Goth outfit, accompanied with a ridiculously large skull ring and a scary black sword to boot.

At first, Nick thought he was just an unfortunate cosplayer.

Except the sword had reportedly decomposed the entire hand of a careless agent who barely brushed the blade, and was now sitting in an everything-proof glass case in the basement of SHIELD, creepily omitting shadowy wisps.

Dangerous. Not alone.

And they shot him.

In hindsight, Nick thought, he really shouldn't have sent amateurs.

-S-

Annabeth was sketching building blueprints for a customer (even if she was currently on "vacation", she still needed to make _some _sort of income) on a tree stump next to the stables, where Percy was currently cleaning Pegasus dung (the idiot lost a bet with the Hermes cabin, again) when 4 demigods, around 12-13 years of age, disheveled and panicked, tumbled through the camp barrier babbling about Nico and the men in black. Annabeth heads over in curiosity, along with pretty much half the camp.

Nico had apparently taken them on an experience trip to kill a batch of dracnae, then gotten himself shot and captured.

"They drove a big black car and had big black sunglasses," one of them says, eyes wide and hands gesticulating. "They shot him after we killed all the vampires and took him. We ran away."

"They _shot _him?"

Amidst the chatter of the demigods, Annabeth casts a glance at Percy, who was hanging back towards the stables but listening intently all the same. He's leaning on his shovel, still looking cool and collected, even with the ends of his shovel caked in horse shit and his blue rubber gloves painted with splotches of brown.

"Are you planning anything?" She asks him. He's always been more of an action guy.

He shrugs."There's always a chance that this is one big misunderstanding." He says."But if it isn't..._ " _He trails off, like he was leaving the rest to Annabeth's imagination.

Something flashes in his eye, fierce and feral, and Annabeth unconsciously takes a step back. She's seen that side of him before, ruthless and unfeeling. She's seen it in full bloom deep in the pits of the underworld, where he slashed and sliced through countless monsters with brutal efficiency, all while carrying her at his side. Percy was the ocean, which meant with the calm seas came merciless storms.

He notices her expression. Something inside of him snaps shut, like a camera shutter, and his mood reverts back into his standard amicable one.

Percy turns and walks back to the stables, casually swinging his shovel and flinging poop everywhere.

"Nobody messes with my friends." He calls lightly over his shoulder, smirking, like a joke.

Annabeth knows it wasn't a joke. That was about as sincere as he got.

Percy often took care to keep her in the clear and away from all storms, but Annabeth knows he doesn't need to.

Because if Percy was a storm, then Annabeth was the eye.

**I'm so tireed. It's Halloween night and I'm over here lonely and sad and cooped up writing fanfiction because its raining. There might be strange use of language in the story because I can barely keep my eyes open ( hah cuz im Asian get it) but I'll probably fix them by tomorrow morning. Oh, and thanks for the reviews. There were a lot. It was cool. There'll probably be another story tomorrow. Goodnight.**


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